Page 12 of Not Your Valentine
“Helen Tsang?” the delivery person says, butchering my last name.
“Uh…yeah.” It’s hard to speak because I’m blown away by how beautiful the flowers are. “Thank you.”
I’ve never received a flower delivery before, and I’m not sure of the etiquette here. Are you supposed to tip? I don’t have much cash on hand, but I manage to find a five-dollar bill in my wallet. I hand it over before taking the vase to my small dining room table, placing it next to Lucifer, and examining the flowers from every angle. They really are amazing. A little envelope, not much bigger than a business card, peeks out from between the flowers, and I open it up.
Can’t wait for tomorrow! xo Taylor
I can’t help staring at that “xo.” The delivery—it’s tangible proof that this is really happening. I’m in a fake relationship. I feel a buzz of excitement that my plan has been set in motion, my pulse quickening.
Finally, I recover my wits and remember what I’m supposed to be doing with these flowers: posting pictures of them on social media.
Right.
I pick up my phone, but before I take any pictures, I text Taylor.
Got the flowers. They’re amazing. Thanks. I hesitate before adding, You didn’t need to get such a huge bouquet.
I feel guilty. These flowers can’t be cheap, and it’s not like Taylor’s rich; he’s a social worker who lives with a roommate. Now, unlike me, he probably doesn’t mind having a roommate, but still. It’s not as if he’s some wealthy businessman for whom this is pocket change.
You deserve it, he replies.
My instinct is to respond with, No, I really don’t, but instead, I set about snapping pictures of the flowers. I’m not quite as obsessed with taking photos and videos as some people of my generation, but I’d take a picture of these even if I wasn’t posting anything on Instagram. I upload the best pictures, mention Taylor in the caption, and add a heart emoji for good measure.
Ugh. Referring to my (fake) relationship doesn’t come naturally to me. I’m still wrapping my head around this new reality, and I’m jittery. I remind myself that this is safe; it’s not real, and it can’t end in disaster like everything did with Charlie.
Several minutes later, once I’ve finished the dregs of my coffee, there’s a new message in the group chat.
WHITNEY: I thought you weren’t interested in dating again, Helen??
JASMEET: What did I miss
WHITNEY: Check Helen’s Insta
JASMEET: OMG
JASMEET: Why didn’t you tell us on NYE? Or did it JUST happen?
ESTHER: So the reason you didn’t want to attend singles mixers is because you aren’t single?
I think for a moment. I really need to figure out the timeline of our relationship.
ME: I wasn’t ready to say anything then, but it’s fun to imagine your faces right now.
ESTHER: Taylor is your friend from high school, right?
ME: Yes
WHITNEY: I’M SO HAPPY FOR YOU!!!
ME: Stop yelling
WHITNEY: I was worried you’d sworn off love. I’m glad I was wrong.
There’s a strange feeling in my stomach as I read her words. I’m lying to my friends. I really have sworn off love. They’re happy about something that isn’t true.
But this is what I wanted, right? My fake relationship plan is working. Sure, it feels a little different from my quick lie to Vin, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it.
My phone chimes, indicating a text.
